


The Beauty Of Our Discontent

by begformercytwice



Category: Elementary (TV)
Genre: Car Sex, F/F, Public Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-09-18
Updated: 2013-10-23
Packaged: 2017-12-27 00:07:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 5,968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/971909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/begformercytwice/pseuds/begformercytwice
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU where Irene begins a relationship with Joan instead of Sherlock. Back when Joan was still a surgeon, and her life was full of people and responsibility, she still felt unfulfilled, until a mysterious woman wanders into her world.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

"They tell me it's a forgery," a voice whispered in her ear. "A brilliant one, obviously. Only a few people in the entire world would ever be able to tell. But still, a fake. Does that dampen your enjoyment?"

She turned to look at the woman standing behind her. Blonde. Pretty. Very pretty. Expensively dressed. British, judging by her accent. The woman was looking up at the painting with a tiny smile, like she'd been holding in that secret her whole life.  
"How can it be fake?" said Joan, standing her ground as the woman edged further into her personal space. "This is the Met. They don't just hang anything in here. They check."

"Your faith in other people's competence is charming, doctor," she said, "but even the greatest of minds can be deceived. You will always find the devil in the details, but first you have to know which details to examine."

"How do you know I'm a doctor? Have you been following me? And who's they, anyway?" Joan demanded. "You said 'they' said it's fake. You know what? I don't care. Get the hell away from me." She began to walk away, heels clacking and echoing in the almost deserted hall.

"I didn't mean to frighten you!" said the woman, running after her. "I was just trying to strike up a conversation. Obviously, we didn't get off on the right foot. I saw you had a pager, that's all. Only doctors carry pagers in this day and age. I was trying to be clever; I apologise. And that nonsense about the forgery, well, that was just a rumour I heard. Forgive me for being so ridiculous. Let me make it up to you. Let me buy you a coffee. Please? I feel so bad. I promise I'm not as awful as I seem. My name's Irene, by the way. Irene Adler."

Joan looked the woman up and down. She did look genuinely remorseful, and Joan did have an hour or two to kill. The woman might be interesting, at least. "Fine, one coffee. But if you creep me out again, I'm leaving."

They sat in the airy cafe, oddly quiet for the time of day. Irene leaned back in her seat and looked enquiringly at Joan, legs delicately crossed, sipping her coffee and dangling her shoe from her foot. "I always thought you doctors had ludicrously hectic schedules," she said, pursing her rose-pink lips and blowing into the cup. "What brings you here in the middle of the day? Not playing truant, surely? Not leaving some ward unattended while you take a cultural tour of the city?"

"Well, first of all, I'm a surgeon, so I'm not in charge of any wards. Second, I'm on call, as you know, because you saw my pager. And third, given your display in the gallery, I don't think you're entitled to ask me any more personal questions. I think it's my turn to ask you a few."

"By all means, fire away," Irene said, leaning forward and smiling that smile again. "I only hope I can interest you as much as you interest me."

"You're veering dangerously close to creepy again," said Joan, holding up a hand to silence her. "No more talking unless you're spoken to." Irene smiled wider, and made a zipping motion against her mouth. "Why did you come and talk to me? There must be thousands of people in here. Why me?"

"You looked lonely," she replied simply. "You looked like you needed someone to talk to. Not many people would have taken the time to sit down with me. You need stimulation, and your life right now just isn't providing it."

"What are you, my therapist now?" Joan snapped. "My life is plenty stimulating, okay? I save lives. I have friends; friends who don't sneak up on me and whisper in my ear and try to analyse me."

"And yet, here you are, sharing your precious afternoon with me." This woman was infuriating in every way possible. She had the air of a know-it-all, but so far it seemed like she did know it all. Common sense told Joan just to get up and leave, to go home, or back to the hospital, but she stayed in her seat, coffee untouched and cooling on the table. "But do continue. Ask me anything. I have no secrets."

"I find that very difficult to believe." Did she really have nothing better to do than sit here talking in riddles with some sort of angel-faced art expert? Was this woman flirting with her? Was she flirting back? "That thing you said about the forgery," she said, lowering her voice. "Did you mean it? Do you really think the painting's a fake?"

"Well, I hear gossip like that all the time in my line of work," said Irene. There was that smile again. "I restore paintings. I'd have to get closer to be absolutely certain, but the possibility is most definitely there. Why? Do you want to sneak in here one night with me, to get a better look?"

Before Joan could answer, a metallic beeping began to sound from her waist. A summons from the hospital. "Well, it's been fun, and much as I'd enjoy planning a felony or two with a stranger, I have to go," she said, getting up and reaching for her purse. "Thanks for an interesting conversation, anyway."

"I do hate when real life intrudes upon enjoyment, don't you?" Irene said, leaning back once again and looking up at her playfully. "No, put your purse away, I won't hear of it. The coffee was my treat. But if you do want to continue this," she said, reaching into her own handbag, "call me. Any time. I would like nothing more than to get to know you."

"Um, I'm not so sure about that," said Joan. She took the card anyway, though. What harm could it do? "It was nice meeting you."

"See you around," Irene called to her retreating form. "Don't work too hard."


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Joan makes a call.
> 
> (nb the patient in this chapter is not the patient whose loss compels her to leave medicine.)

Nine p.m. in the city, and she'd almost forgotten about the mysterious woman. She'd spent the last few hours up to her elbows in blood, trying to piece back together some guy who'd been on a bus when it was hit side-on by a fire truck. Anyone could have seen from the start that the man had no chance, but Joan had striven to save him anyway. When the machines finally stopped beeping, and the rest of the room was looking at her to pronounce him dead, she wasn't thinking about what might happen if she called the number on the card. But now, walking the couple of blocks back to her empty apartment, the thought came creeping back to her.

She fingered the card in her coat pocket as she hurried through the busy streets. Why was she even thinking about it? Who in their right mind would call some stranger who behaved as bizarrely as that woman? This was ridiculous. She reached for her phone in her purse: no messages. One of her friends must be free that evening. She needed a drink, or a chat, anything to occupy her mind. Everyone she was close to at the hospital was working. College friends could be in or out of town at any given moment, and, if she were being honest with herself, she wasn't in the mood to listen to them chatter away about their jobs and their lives. Everything they said seemed so trivial lately. 

The night air bit at her skin, and she pulled her collar closer around her. Maybe an evening in would be best. Her nice, warm apartment, a good book, and some cocoa. For God's sake, Joan, she thought. You're turning into your mother already. Just call someone and go out. But, instead of finding a familiar number, she reached for the card again. That woman had actually seemed to care about what Joan had to say. She'd been good company, her over-the-top introduction notwithstanding. And that smile...

She reached her apartment just in time to avoid the snow. It wasn't heavy, just a few tiny flakes beginning to freckle the cars and sidewalks and catch the light pouring from windows and headlamps. She shrugged off her coat and shook loose her hair in front of the mirror. She needed it cut, she decided. Maybe a new style, something really short. It was so quiet in the apartment. Even the usual sounds of her neighbours' comings and goings seemed muted. She kicked off her shoes, threw herself onto the couch and started flipping through the TV channels. News. Reality show. Trashy true-life movie. Reality show. She switched it off again, opened her laptop, and closed it again, unable to bring herself to care about her various friends' baby pictures that would be cluttering her news feed. She glanced at her bookshelf, but couldn't even muster the enthusiasm to get up and find something to read. Like an invisible force was guiding them, her eyes were drawn back to her jacket, to where that number was waiting.

Her fingers hesitated as she dialled the number, as if they knew this wasn't the most sensible idea she'd ever had. Four years of college, and four more in med school, and she'd never so much as given her number to someone she met in a bar, and here she was, calling a complete stranger at this hour, with no idea where it might lead. 

It rang once, twice, three times. Maybe she was just messing with me, Joan thought. Maybe that's what she does, meets people once, strikes up a one-time friendship, and never sees them again. This is probably the number of some deli in Queens. What if she answers? What if she says she wants to meet up? What if she's a serial killer? What if-

"Hello?" said the sweet voice on the other end of the line. "Irene Adler speaking."

"Oh, um, hi," said Joan, suddenly lost for what to say. "It's Joan, we met at the gallery earlier?"

"Oh, hello!" the woman said brightly. "I hoped you'd call! It wasn't too terrible a catastrophe at the hospital, was it? I know how awful things can get for you doctors."

"Well, pretty bad, but nothing I haven't seen before," she said. Most people skirted around the less pleasant aspects of Joan's work. They usually just assumed she spent her days perfoming dramatic transplant operations, and her nights rolling in cash. "Um, this is going to sound totally insane, but... are you free tonight? It was nice talking to you today, and I thought it might be nice for us to get together again." She'd said nice twice in one sentence. The woman was going to think she was an idiot. "You know, if you want to. You're probably busy. It's okay, I shouldn't have called so late. I'm sorry."

"Nonsense!" Irene said. Joan could hear the slight clicking sound of freshly-applied, glossy lipstick as she spoke. She hadn't been wearing anything like that before. Why had she even noticed that? "I'm free as a bird. In fact, I've been invited to a rather exclusive event this evening, and I have simply no one to be my plus one. I would be honoured if you would accompany me."

"That sounds good," Joan said. A public place, in a nice neighbourhood, from the sound of it. Easy enough to leave, if necessary. "Where is it? What is it?"

"Oh, just a little nightclub a friend of mine has opened," the woman replied. "It's a little bit dressy, but I bet you look just as beautiful in a cocktail dress as you do in jeans. I'll text you the address, and meet you there. Sound good?"

"Absolutely," said Joan, before she processed the compliment, and was once more stuck for words. "I just hope this snow doesn't get heavier. I'll freeze to death on the sidewalk before I even get there." The weather, she thought. Those are some great conversational skills you've got there.

"Don't worry about that, Joan," Irene said. The way she said her name made Joan shiver. "It'll be warm enough when you get here, I promise."


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Joan lets her instinct take over.

Her heels were probably higher than was really practical, but it had taken her so long to choose the right dress, she had just grabbed the first pair she saw, without even remembering to put on pantyhose, and rushed out to get a taxi. Now they clacked on the pavement, the sound ringing out like gunshots, as she walked towards the entrance to the place. It certainly seemed as exclusive as Irene had made out. The throbbing sound of the music pulsed through the walls, while a small crowd jostled to get near the roped-off entrance. Joan's mind was racing with anxiety as she approached and couldn't see Irene anywhere. Somewhere like this was well outside her comfort zone. She usually preferred to go to a bar or restaurant with friends. Should she call her? Stand in line? Ask if she was on the guest list?

"You're here!" Irene exclaimed as she burst out of the door. "I thought you'd decided to stand me up!" She was wearing the brightest red dress Joan had ever seen, or at least it seemed so, and the lipstick to match it. Her face was flushed like she'd run a marathon. "Well, we can't stand out here all night. Come on in!"

"I'm not sure," Joan said, holding back a little. "Can we go somewhere and talk for a while? It's just been a really tough day, and I think-"

"You think too much," Irene said, suddenly cupping Joan's face in her hands. "That's why I brought you here. You need to climb out of your head for a little while, forget who you are. Just be." She took Joan's hand and began to lead her inside. "When I need to forget my troubles, I dance. It's good for the soul."

Inside, the club was deafening, and the sweat was practically running down the walls. Joan barely had time to catch her breath before Irene had pulled her onto the dance floor and wrapped her arms around her waist. Irene moved to the music like she'd been doing it her whole life, like the beat was sustaining her. Joan wasn't even sure if it was the music she could feel in her chest, or the beating of Irene's heart, they were pressed so close together.

She wanted to look around the room as they danced, to see who else might come to a place like this, but she found her eyes were locked on Irene's. That intense, glacial blue stare seemed to come from another world, and she couldn't tear herself away from it. She felt her hands make their own way across Irene's bare shoulders, embracing her, feeling the heat of her skin. She didn't know why she was so drawn to this woman, whom she'd only met eight hours before. There was just something so magnetic about her, those eyes, those lips...

Those lips that were now pressing down on hers. She only hesitated for a second before pushing her fingers through Irene's hair and pulling her in closer to kiss her back, harder and deeper. She was glad of her high heels now that they put her at Irene's height. She felt Irene's hands move to her waist, and then slowly begin to move down to her hips. The music blurred into a distant noise in her ears as she felt Irene's touch moving gradually towards her bare legs, and shuddered when her fingertips met her flesh.

No doubt all eyes in the place were on them, but at that point Joan was beyond caring. Her breath came heavily as she moved her left hand to Irene's breast. All she could think about was exploring her body. She wanted to know where to touch her to make her gasp, to make her moan, to make her scream. For her part, Irene didn't even seem to need to learn. She had moved one hand up to touch the arch of Joan's back, and at the same instant she pulled away from the kiss, she slid her other hand into Joan's underwear.

Joan drew in her breath sharply as Irene's warm fingertips came into contact with her, expertly finding her most sensitive spots. She pushed her hips forward, unable to hold back from the pleasure Irene was giving her, as the part of her brain telling her this was wrong was drowned out by the singing of every nerve in her body. Her heart raced when Irene smiled that goddamn smile again, making her wetter and more turned on than she'd ever been before. She was sure she was moaning out loud with pleasure, but the thud of the music made it impossible to tell. She could see Irene's lips, framed with smeared lipstick, mouthing words, but what they were was irrelevant now. 

Irene slid two fingers inside her, moving her thumb against her clit, and Joan gasped aloud again. She wrapped her arms around Irene's neck once again and pulled her as close as she could as she approached her climax. She felt Irene kiss her neck and graze her teeth against her skin as she tensed up in her arms, the waves of her orgasm beginning at the tips of Irene's fingers and slowly but unrelentingly radiating out through her body, through her abdomen, down her legs to her curled toes, through her arms to her nails, digging into Irene's skin. She thought she'd be there forever.

When she regained her senses, it seemed like hours had passed. Irene was holding her, gently now, like they were alone at this most intimate moment, instead of in a crowded club full of people who looked like they hadn't noticed a thing. She didn't know what time it was, or what had possessed her to do what she just did. All she knew was that it had felt so very right.

"Feeling better?" Irene yelled in her ear, although it felt like the most tender whisper. 

"I feel perfect," she replied.


	4. Chapter 4

When Joan awoke, it was with a smile on her face. For a moment, she didn't even remember why she felt happier than she had in a long time, but then it all came flooding back. The club. The dance floor. The hours they spent there afterwards, enraptured by the music and enshrouded in each other's arms. The kiss goodbye that neither of them wanted to break. The solitary cab ride home. Her cold, empty bed. She lay there for a minute, savouring the memories, and the faint smell of Irene's perfume still clinging to the dress she hadn't bothered to remove before falling asleep.

Strange, she thought. It had been dark the last time she'd needed to be up for an eight a.m. shift. Why was it so light- shit. She grabbed her phone and sat bolt upright. Nine thirty? Why hadn't her alarm gone off? She scrambled out of the covers and pulled the dress over her head, forgetting it had a zipper up the back, which got caught in her hair. As she fought to free herself, her phone buzzed. Her boss, no doubt. She answered without looking at the name. "I know, I'm sorry, something came up, I'll be there in like fifteen minutes, I promise."

"Oh, goody! Where are we going?" said a bright voice. It was a long way from the voice that had been whispering to her in the private room in the back of the club, but was still unmistakably Irene. "I was hoping you might give me a tour of the city. I'm still so new here."

"I'm not giving you a tour of anything," Joan said playfully, trying to fasten her trousers with one hand. "I have to go to work, and I'm already nearly two hours late. Don't you have work to do too? Didn't you say you were here on business? What is it you do, anyway?"

"Oh, my client cancelled at the last minute," she said languorously. "It's such a shame; I was about to make a killing on that job. Still, it can't be helped. What shall we do today?"

"I told you, I'm working," laughed Joan, hunting for her other shoe. "I have a schedule. Patients don't just cancel on surgeons, you know."

"Well, I suppose not, but you aren't the only surgeon in New York City, surely?" she said. The mischief in her voice was growing more pronounced by the second. "They could survive without you for one day, couldn't they?"

"Are you saying you want me to cut class with you?"

"Most definitely. Call them and tell them you're ill. Terribly ill. Could be fatal, there's just no telling yet. I can write you a note, if you like. 'Mother says no games for Joanie'. Then we'll have the day to ourselves."

"You don't understand," Joan said. "I'm trying to get a permanent position at this hospital. They won't even consider me if I start taking days off without warning. I'll already be on the head of surgery's shit list because I'm so late. Can we meet tonight? I'll call you as soon as I get off."

"Oh, but I do so love to be there when you get off," Irene laughed. Then her voice turned serious. "Tell me, Joan: how many hours did you work last week?"

"Um, I don't know, exactly," Joan said. "It's hard to keep an exact count, 'cause you're there after your shift ends, for hours sometimes, and then they call you in out of hours, and-"

"Exactly," came Irene's firm voice. "You'll work yourself into an early grave in that place, and all the other doctors will come and they'll feast on your corpse like piranhas."

"Well, I think that's being a little dramatic," Joan replied.

"It's the truth, and you know it," she said. "Is it as exciting as you thought it would be, being a surgeon? Or has wielding the power of life and death lost some of its novelty?"

"Hey, I don't need career advice, okay?" snapped Joan, as she pushed the elevator button. "My job is great, my life is great. We had fun. Maybe we should just leave it at that."

"Never," Irene said calmly. "We go too well together, you know that. You felt the same thing I felt. You're an uncommon soul, Joan, and you could do uncommon things."

"You're doing it again," Joan said. "Coming on too strong." She paused, and leaned against the elevator wall. "But I do want to see you again."

"Then meet me," she said. "A sick day will look better than an unexplained lateness, anyway."

The elevator stopped with a lurch, and Joan stepped out, and crossed the lobby to the doors. The idea of breathing the disinfectant stink of the operating theatre made her stomach churn. The previous night's snow had almost vanished, with just a few patches of dirty slush remaining to show what had been. "Fine. I'm starving, anyway. I know a great place for brunch."


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which brunch is had, and plans are made.

"This is a charming little place," Irene said, delicately tearing pieces from her croissant and popping them into her mouth. "Isn't this so much better than boring old work?"

"Yeah, who needs a career when you can have French pastries?". Those second thoughts had started up again in Joan's head; in fact, she'd had at least three changes of heart just between leaving her building and arriving here. She should be doing what she'd been trained to do right now, but she'd chosen instead to follow the whims of a woman she'd known less than a day. Fantastic decision-making, she thought. Keep it up, and you'll be lucky to get a job pulling night shifts at the free clinic.

"Oh, don't be like that," Irene said, leaning forward and gently touching Joan's hand. "There's room in life for both. You need your recreation if you're to function effectively. I certainly don't spend my every waking hour slaving away at my work."

"Are you ever actually going to tell me what is it you do?" Joan said. "You said you're here on business, but you seem to have all the time in the world to devote to art galleries and brunch."

"And nightclubs," Irene whispered, and traced a circle on the back of Joan's hand. Joan looked away and suppressed a smile.

"Look," Joan said. "I don't normally do what I did last night. I don't just jump into bed with people. It was a one-off. I don't know, I guess I've been working too hard, and I needed to blow off some steam. But now it's gone, and we-"

"But you liked it," Irene said, dabbing at the crumbs on her plate. "Didn't you? You enjoyed last night."

"Well, yeah, but-"

"Then maybe you should do things like that more often. If you enjoy something, you should just do it, and don't let anyone tell you that you shouldn't."

"Well, that's a wonderful philosophy, but I think society would break down pretty quickly if we all put that into practice," Joan said. 

"So?" smirked Irene. "Why shouldn't we paint on the walls if we want to? The world would be better off with a little more colour in it, don't you think?"

"Great," shrugged Joan. "Paint on whatever you want. Take whatever drugs you want. Kill whoever you want, 'cause as long as you're having fun, who cares, right?"

Irene stopped, and gazed straight at Joan. "You really do believe in the rules, don't you?" she said. "I bet you'd never done a crazy thing in your life before last night, and now look at you, bunking off to break bread and debate philosophy with your partner in crime. I think you're entitled to some curiosity. So, to answer your earlier question, I work in art restoration. It takes me all over the world, but sometimes it gives me a little free time."

"So you spotted that fake painting yourself," Joan replied. She stared straight back at Irene. "You didn't hear a rumour. At least now I know why you're so keen to paint on things."

Irene laughed, a little too loudly. People at neighbouring tables glanced at them in disapproval. "Just a rhetorical device, Joanie. I hope I'd be a little more inventive, were I to give free rein to my hedonistic tendencies." She paused, and glanced around, mock-conspiratorially. "We should do it. Forget about everything, and just run away, and do whatever we want. We could live on a desert island, or in some city on the other side of the world. Can you imagine it?"

For a moment, Joan let the idea sweep her away. No more pressure. No more stress. No more student loan repayments. Then she came crashing back to earth. "One day we've known each other, and you're talking like this," she said. "Are you always this intense?"

"I don't do things by halves," Irene said. "I know how I come off sometimes, but when I really want something, I can't help myself."

"Okay, let's get one thing straight: I am not a thing for you to acquire. You got that?" Joan said, recoiling from Irene. "If I'm just some amusement for you, some way to kill time while you're waiting for your next job, then you'd better tell me right now, 'cause I won't let you draw me in with stuff about desert islands and running away and then turn around tomorrow and find out you're gone. That's not how a person behaves to another person. I need you to be honest with me. Tell me the truth, or I'm leaving right now."

"The truth?" Irene said, straightening up. "I'm in New York for precisely one week. I arrived yesterday morning. I don't make a habit of talking to strangers in a strange city, but there was something about you that I found oddly... tantalising. I told you, I think you're special."

"Well, I'm not," Joan said. "No more than anyone else. I have a job, and an apartment, a family and friends. I don't have any excitement to offer you. I live a nice, safe, boring life."

"Then let's change that," Irene whispered. "Let's be dangerous. Let me bring you into my world."

"The do-or-die world of the art restorer?"

"Oh, there's so much more to me than that."

"Are you an art restorer by day, crime fighter by night? Safe cracker? Crystal meth cook?"

"See what I mean? Too much TV, not enough living. Let's spend the week together. If nothing else, you'll have a story to tell when you're old and decrepit."

"I have to go in to work tomorrow."

"How can you, with the terrible bug you've got?". Irene was smiling broadly now, and, despite herself, Joan was doing the same. "I promise we won't get into any trouble."


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part one of two because I'm a terrible tease.

"We can take my car. It's waiting right outside. Where do you want to go?"

"You just hired a car for a week? Can't you take cabs like normal people?"

"Oh, you get no privacy in those things. And they're so dirty. No, I like to treat myself when I'm away from home," Irene said, as they made their way outside. "Courtesy of my client's expense account, of course. Some of those who fancy themselves as art collectors really have more money than sense. They'll give you anything you ask for, if you flatter them enough about their imagined exquisite taste."

"So, you're gonna keep it all week, even though you're not doing any work?" Joan said as they reached the kerb. "Sounds like a pretty nice job. Is that the car?"

"That's it." Irene gestured and smiled at the ridiculously luxurious vehicle with the blacked-out windows. "I said I didn't do things by halves." She opened the door and stepped aside. "After you."

*

The traffic was heavy for the time of day, even by New York standards, and the car crawled along. Irene seemed unconcerned; she hadn't even given the driver a destination, and Joan sure as hell couldn't think of any suggestions. Apparently they were just going to drive around in circles all day.

"I remember the first time I came to the city," Irene said, gazing out of the window. "I grew up in London, so I'm no country bumpkin, but even so, I found the place so frenetic. I got lost so many times. I almost ended up on a train to Philadelphia, I got so confused at the station. I always think I'm going to get bored with it, but I never do. There's always something new to discover. Or someone." She turned to Joan and took her hand. "What brought you here?"

"I've always lived here," she replied, wrapping her fingers around Irene's. "My parents moved here from Chicago before I was born. I went to college and med school here."

"You've never wanted to leave?"

"Well, maybe once or twice, when I was in high school," Joan laughed. "When my parents wouldn't get off my case about getting perfect grades, and getting into the best college, I'd tell them I was going to run away. I've no idea where I thought I was going to go, or how I'd survive, and of course they never believed me, but it was nice just to say it. I never left. I just stayed here. I guess I'll be here forever. But it's like you said; it's always changing, and there's always something new."

"Why did you want to become a surgeon?" Irene asked. "It can't be the easiest of jobs, and you seem clever enough to have done anything you put your mind to. Why that?"

"I always wanted to be a doctor," Joan said. "The surgery part was a last minute decision, kind of, but I've always wanted to work in medicine. I think the reason I was so angry earlier, about what you said about playing God, was because you were right. It's an ego trip to save a life; I can't deny that. Even outside the hospital, in my life, when people know I'm a doctor, they treat me differently. I feel special. That probably sounds kinda pathetic."

"Not at all," Irene said, leaning towards her. "Everyone needs to feel needed. I love what I do, but I sometimes feel like it isn't all that worthwhile. Not in any real way, like what you do." Irene kissed her suddenly, just for half a second. "You should feel special."

"I do." Joan kissed her back, placing her free hand behind Irene's head. She pulled back and looked into her eyes. "I do when I'm with you." She reached across and clicked the button to raise the divider between them and the driver; she'd had one eye on it since they got in the car. She wanted their next display of affection to be a little less public than the last.

"Someone was thinking ahead," Irene whispered. She ran her tongue over her teeth as she looked Joan up and down. "You've been planning this all day, you bad girl."

"Maybe I have," said Joan. She shifted quickly in her seat, and placed herself directly on Irene's lap, knees either side of her on the seat, holding onto the grab handle to stay upright. "Maybe I've only been pretending to listen to you all day, when in fact all I've been thinking about is what you'd look like with that blouse off."

"You want to see?" Irene leaned back and grinned, hands gripping the headrests behind her. "I'm all yours."

"No, no," Joan said. "I wanna see you do it. Take it off. Slowly."

Without breaking that intense eye contact she did so well, Irene reached down and began to unbutton her blouse. Each time more pale skin was exposed, Joan grew more impatient, but she forced herself to wait, savouring every instant. After the last button, Irene let her hands fall away, and pouted wickedly at Joan. "What now?"

"Take it off, I said," Joan answered. "Unless you're shy, all of a sudden."

Irene shrugged the blouse off her shoulders, and threw it to the other side of the car. "Better?"

"A little," Joan said, leaning down and pressing a kiss to Irene's breastbone. "I might have guessed you'd be wearing the laciest bra ever made, though. Far too fancy. It's gotta go, too."

Without a word, Irene slipped first one strap off her shoulder, then the other. She leaned forward and undid the clasp. It fell away from her body and landed in her lap between the two of them. Her breasts were as perfect as Joan had imagined, and she let her free hand caress them, feeling Irene shiver under her touch. 

Irene had finally looked away and closed her icy blue eyes. She looked so vulnerable, sitting there almost naked. In a second, though, she looked up once again, and the impish expression filled her face once more. "Are you enjoying the view from up there?"

"Definitely," Joan said. "You should go around like this all the time. It suits you." She paused for a second, and then let herself slide backwards, knees scraping against the upholstery, until she came to a rest in the footwell. "You never let me return the favour last night," she said, pushing Irene's tightly-fitted pencil skirt up above her knees. "Or is it just give, give, give with you?"

"Oh, Joanie," Irene sighed, trying to maintain her composure as Joan kissed her way up her thigh. "I can take whatever you can give me."


End file.
